A Minor Engagement

I've returned to Minneapolis, but this weekend I have to fly back to New York. No reason, really. A niggling press commitment, you might say. (dry cough.)

Oh, to blazes with composure! I'M GOING TO BE ON DAVID LETTERMAN!

Fire up yr Tivos, cowpokes: My interview tapes Monday afternoon and will air either Monday night or Wednesday night. The other guest is some unknown fellow by the name of Denzel Washington.

Cross your labes that I don't wind up being bumped-- I've seen it happen to the "third guest." And I am the thirdiest third guest ever; I think "author" ranks even below "chef" and "Regis" in the late-night guest hierarchy.

Yeah, I'm shocked too.

Breathless East Coast recap: I enjoyed various dessert liqueurs with the charismatic and hilarious Frankie (Can't Relax), met Lily Burana (fangirl squeal!), did The Bower Show again (love that filthy Sirius gang), read at Coliseum Books and scorched my esophagus with FUCKING HOT-ASS SHRIMP at a Cubano fusion joint. God bless everyone who showed up, hung out, and/or enabled this mobile booze fiend in some way. I no longer think of New York as a lonely city. I rather like it.

I'd better like it, because I'm going to be back there before you can say "panicked shopping expedition because apparently I can't wear scuffed workboots and a Santino Rice do-rag on Letterman."

WE NEED ASSISTANCE IN WARDROBE, STAT! CODE BUTCH! CODE BUTCH!